


Bagginshield Storymatic Prompt Challenge

by bilboisababe



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: But they all are based off the same thing, I'll add them as I go promise, M/M, Storymatic Prompts, Storymatic is a game you should check out, There's more characters, This is just a collection of one-shots, it's really great
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 15:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7512712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bilboisababe/pseuds/bilboisababe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots. The prompts are based off the game "Storymatic," and the rules are simple:<br/>Draw two gold cards- these are your two main characters or two characteristics of one character<br/>Draw two copper cards- these are two plot devices to base your story around</p><p>Lots of fluff and smut in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Have My Vote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a. Gold Cards: Politician and Babysitter  
> b. Copper Cards: Jealousy and First Kiss  
> c. Prompt: Sure, just because it’s election season doesn’t mean that Thorin cares any less about Fili and Kili. It’s just now he has to be on the road a whole lot more, but thankfully his publicist, Gandalf, has the number of a babysitter that can be trusted to look after his nephews. It’s just rather unfortunate that Bilbo Baggins and he have very different opinions on the world and how the country should be.
> 
> Or, the one where Thorin and Bilbo debate politics and discover sexual tension instead.

He sighed as he loosened his tie, falling back into the closest armchair to the door. It had been a long day, and he very much wanted to just change into a pair of pyjamas and nurse one of those cheap bottles of beer in his fridge for a couple hours. If everything was as it should be, the boys should be in bed and the sitter should be gone. He could collapse and possibly even fall asleep here; no doubt Sigrid could wake him up in the morning before she started cleaning.

However, it seemed that things were _not_ going as expected.

Someone jumped on his lap, looping his tiny arms around Thorin’s shoulders as he burrowed himself in his uncle’s chest. Opening his eyes, Thorin was surprised but not shocked to see Kíli staring down at him through a mane of unruly brown hair. The seven year old was grinning, proud that he’d managed to sneak up on his uncle without much effort. Despite it being nearly ten-thirty at night, he wasn’t in his pyjamas, and Thorin’s mouth twisted into a scowl immediately.

“What are you doing up, Kíli?” he demanded. “Your bedtime is at nine o’clock.” His nephew had the sense to at least try looking ashamed, but the spark in his brown eyes told Thorin that it was anything but the case. “Did you two scare off another sitter?”

“We didn’t!” a voice cried indignantly behind him. Fíli ran from where he hid around the corner to frown at his uncle. Since he’d turned twelve this year, his oldest nephew had taken to maintaining a “mature” front whenever Thorin tried to scold them. He went as far as pulling Kíli behind him, the two of them crossing arms and frowning together.

“It’s Friday,” Kíli said, like that was all they needed in terms of explanation. When Thorin raised an eyebrow, they rolled their eyes. “Friday is _movie night_ , uncle.”

“Since when?” he demanded, getting up from his armchair. He seriously didn’t feel like dealing with this right now, but it seemed he didn’t get a choice in the matter. There hadn’t been a single mention of “movie night” in the contract or job overview, and he had firmly told this man that he was to run any new ideas by Thorin first, no matter where he was.

The country was knee-deep in elections, and Thorin Oakenshield was up for re-election. This meant travelling city to city for votes, getting up on his soapbox to preach to a group of people who were probably too stupid to understand half the words in his speeches. However, if he was going to help bring the people out of one of the worst economic downfalls since the 1930s, he couldn’t risk not seeing every single person. Ignoring even the small towns wasn’t an option, even if Balin, his campaign manager, tried to insist that he could just stick to the large cities and trust that radio and television ads would do the rest.

However, all those days he spent travelling were days spent away from his nephews, who had come to live with him four years ago when their parents died in a plane crash. It had been a week before elections, and Thorin’s eyes had still been puffy and red when he’d gone up for the last debate. Balin had commented later his landslide win had previously been a very tight race before the accident. As much as the country had gossiped and bet on how long it would be until Thorin cracked under the pressure, they had apparently admired him for stepping in so quickly to take in the boys.

The past four years hadn’t been easy when it came to balancing his job and being a parent, but he had made it a point to be there to wake them up in the morning and be there to tuck them into to bed. Even with the elections, he called every day to check up on them, not minding when he spent half an hour talking to Fíli about the perils of junior high or when he and Kíli would have an entire conversation in emojis when he was waiting for the train because it was too loud to hear each other. Finally, he called them every Tuesday at nine o’clock on the dot to read a little bit more of Harry Potter when they were in bed. They were already on _The Chamber of Secrets_.

They had their routines, carefully mapped out after years of experimenting. Friday night movies were not part of that routine, and he especially didn’t like that this new sitter had decided to start this without so much as a text message. However, after only a month of looking after the boys, he’d learned the hard way that Bilbo Baggins was _not_ the type to ask permission.

They were only six years apart in age- Thorin was thirty-two and Bilbo twenty-six in September- but they were widely different. Bilbo had started soon after the last babysitter the boys had had moved to the next town over in a subtle attempt to flee his little hellions. When Thorin had called his publicist, Gandalf Grey, to cancel the next four rallies and look for a replacement, the older man had only forwarded him a resume and a picture. On paper, Bilbo had looked brilliant, and Thorin had hired him without even interviewing him- mistake number one.

Mistake number two was not verifying with Bilbo that the information that Gandalf had sent over was all that there was to it. Apparently the sitter worked by a routine of his own, and the first time Thorin had come home after Bilbo had been hired, he’d walked in on the boys and their sitter spending Saturday watching cartoons rather than at the park as they should have been. Even when Gandalf had sent over the rest of the information, it now seemed that mistake number three had not been asking what the asterisk beside _rewards_ had meant.

Bilbo came out of the boys’ room, hazel eyes searching for his charges as he held up an empty plastic bowl. “Boys, I do believe we had an agreement about the dishes, now who wants to-” He froze in place when he saw Thorin, normally bright face falling fast into a frown. “Mr. Oakenshield,” he greeted in a barely civil tone.

Bilbo Baggins was perhaps the best male equivalent of a nurturing mother. He usually wore a bright smile that suited his round face well. He had a small button nose that would twitch like a rabbit if he was puzzling over something, and he liked to make the boys laugh by making odd facial expressions. His hair was a golden brown that was barely tamed into curls that ended at the nape of his neck, and Thorin knew from experience that the curls were liable to puff out in all directions in the morning before Bilbo could attack them with a brush. 

He could be considered attractive if he wasn’t such a pain in the ass.

“Mr. Baggins,” he replied just as icily. “I see you haven’t changed a bit.” Normally all their conversations went this way. They had two very different personalities and opinions, something that affected their parenting styles dramatically. Rather than believe that people should work hard to get what they earn, Bilbo was one of those people who firmly stood up for the “less fortunate,” scolding the boys if he caught them making fun of someone who was “in a bad way.”

Lazy, that’s what they were. The people who sat on the corner- asking for money for food and such when all they wanted was money for drugs and alcohol- always perked up a bit whenever Mr. Baggins walked by. Even if he didn’t give them money, he was sure to be carrying _something_ in his ridiculous man-purse that they could eat. When Thorin had looked at the newspaper and saw a picture of Kíli and Bilbo handing over a “care-package” to some rough-looking man on the street, he’d nearly had a coronary. 

That had led to an argument over whether or not he was raising the boys to be prejudiced or not towards people, and Bilbo would’ve been out on the street like one of those beggars if Fíli hadn’t called immediately afterwards in tears- Fíli, who was the pillar of strength and could keep his cool even when his brother was a sobbing mess. Unable to stand the pained whining, Thorin crumbled and told Bilbo he could keep his job.

“You do remember that the boys’ bedtime was an hour and a half ago, correct?” he asked, standing. Normally, his scowl and towering figure could cow even the most ornery politician, let alone a nervous babysitter. However, there was a reason that Mr. Baggins had lasted with his nephews, and it wasn’t because he was a powderpuff. No, the man just stood a little higher and scowled right back up at Thorin without even a flinch.

“I also remember that they are still boys, and that Kíli passed two tests with flying colours and Fíli got the highest score on his science project this week. On top of that, they did all of their chores and were as nice as can be in the meantime. That means that they get to celebrate Friday night with a PG movie and some popcorn. Then, they brush their teeth and head straight for bed.” Bilbo crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. “Studies show that kids react far better to being rewarded for the good things they do rather than be punished for the bad.”

“I don’t care what _studies_ show, Mr. Baggins. I just care that my nephews aren’t kept up all night.” He tried to keep his tone level, knowing that shouting made the boys uncomfortable. “Studies also show that kids are supposed to go to bed early and wake up early.”

Bilbo scoffed. “It’s _Friday night_. They don’t have any obligations in the morning, and sleeping in won’t kill them. It gives me more time to make pancakes, anyways.”

Fíli perked up at this. “Oh, Uncle, just wait until you have some! He makes them with blueberries and chocolate chips!”

Kíli nodded with a wide grin. “And he lets us put whatever we want on it!”

This was met with a long-suffering sigh, but Bilbo was smiling. “Not _whatever_ you want, dear.” He looked back up at Thorin. “Peanut butter, syrup, jam, and Nutella for the plain pancakes are the usual options. I draw the line at chocolate sauce and whipped cream.”

Despite the situation, Thorin almost laughed at the put-out expressions on his nephews’ faces. Obviously this was a campaign they attempted every week, and they were, once again, experiencing the bitter taste of defeat.

If chocolate chip and blueberry pancakes could be considered _bitter_.

Thorin sighed as he looked at the time but shook his head. “It’s late. We should all head to bed.” He pointed to Mr. Baggins. “We’re not done.”

“Oh, perish the thought,” Bilbo replied, not without snark. “I’ve seen you on television, Mr. Oakenshield. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you leave well enough alone when it comes to arguing.” He turned to the boys with a smile. “Brush your teeth and head off to bed. Your uncle and I will be in soon, okay?”

“M‘kay,” they chorused before racing off towards their bathroom. Bilbo watched them go, a fond smile playing on his lips.

Suddenly, Thorin was struck by the aching reason _why_ he kept this infernal man around his nephews. He’d have to be blind to miss how much the three of them cared about each other. He doubted anyone who didn’t love the boys to some degree would put up with them for so long, and Fíli didn’t stand up to his uncle over just anyone.

“How is the campaign going?” Bilbo asked conversationally. “I know your numbers are up.”

Thorin couldn’t help his teasing smirk. “Why? Thinking about changing sides?” It was no secret between the two of them that Mr. Baggins supported Thorin’s opponent, but he didn’t even attempt to twist the boys’ loyalties and was more content to keep politics out of his job. “You know, Elrond is losing. You wouldn’t be the first to skip sides when they see that their candidate doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell.”

Despite Bilbo being kind enough not to try to corrupt the boys, Thorin had made it a small game to actively try to sway the babysitter to his side. After all, Bilbo was _his_ employee, and it burned him inside to know that he didn’t have one of his employee’s unwavering loyalty. He could only imagine what Elrond would say if he found out that his opponent had hired one of his supporters, and it filled Thorin with no small amount of anger.

Bilbo frowned. “I like to think I’m more loyal to what I believe in than that. Mr. Imladris is fighting on behalf of the people who usually never get a say in the matter, and it’s a tragedy that it appears they won’t after all.”

“You think I’ll ignore people who are in need?” Thorin demanded. “You think I don’t know that this country has suffered more and more since 2008?”

“You might as well ignore them, with the respect you give some people.” Bilbo crossed his arms over his chest. “No, Imladris still has my vote, and if you think that you can change that with a few smiles or those stupid smoulders that your campaign plasters all over the posters and signs, then you are-”

“Smoulders?” Thorin grinned. “Oh, Mr. Baggins, that isn’t my smoulder.” He raised both eyebrows, feeling heat rise to his cheeks despite the vicious glare Bilbo was shooting him. “If you want, I could show you my actual smoulder and let you decide if that’s enough to sway you.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully, knowing that it usually made women and men both laugh.

Unfortunately, Bilbo was not swayed. “I think the boys are done brushing their teeth,” he said mulishly, turning on his heel to walk towards the boys’ bedroom. Thorin grinned and followed, knowing that, even if he’d lost the battle, he’d won valuable ground.

-ƧS- ƧS- ƧS- ƧS- ƧS- ƧS- ƧS-

Bilbo tried not to scowl at the skillet in front of him. After all, it wasn’t the pan’s fault that he had to make four more pancakes for the stupid man currently across the kitchen making coffee. Worse still, it was _his_ fault that Thorin Oakenshield got under his skin in the worst ways possible in the first place.

He’d known from the start that working with the politician would be a pain in the ass. After all, the man was known to be incredibly conservative in many of his beliefs about the economy and who deserved assistance. He supported civil rights, thankfully, but he wasn’t consistent about voting to protect those who faced discrimination. Many people speculated that it was because his father and grandfather had actively opposed many civil rights bills and that Thorin was still conflicted over it, but Bilbo was still annoyed to think that someone who was apparently bisexual didn’t take a more active role in even matters that supported LGBTQ.

Still, working for Thorin meant seeing Fíli and Kíli every day, so he couldn’t complain too much. The boys were angels- occasional pranks and antics aside. After all, he remembered being a kid, and stealing desserts and having impromptu water gun fights in the house were just part of growing up. They were polite at the end of the day and loved to help Bilbo wherever they could. He’d looked after worse kids, and this was a job that he enjoyed. Sure, the pay wasn’t always the best, but he was financially secure enough that he didn’t need to work for money.

The boys raced into the room around nine, making sure to stop and hug both Bilbo and Thorin before settling into their designated seats on either side of the table. That left their uncle and babysitter to sit in the two spots left, and Bilbo knew that Thorin now had at least two cups of coffee in his system and would surely notice his shirt.

When he did, after Bilbo had set the platter full of fluffy pancakes at the centre of the table and sat down, he groaned and scowled. “Seriously?” he demanded, voice still gravelly from sleep. “No, I draw the line at eating while staring at his name. It’s too early for you to be this spiteful.”

Bilbo crossed his arms over his chest, barely covering the _Imladris 2016_ in red that spanned across it. “This was my last nightshirt, I’ll have you know. I wore this the night before as well, so don’t think it was pulled out of my dresser for your sake. If you don’t like my shirt, just scowl at your plate like you usually do, and we’ll all get to eat in peace.”

Kíli snickered before his brother kicked him under the table. Thorin was less amused, but he did as Bilbo suggested with little more than a few grumbles about “bleeding-heart liberal babysitters.” Ignoring him, Bilbo turned his attention to the boys, making sure that they ate enough and finished all their milk before they were allowed to get down and watch cartoons.

Bilbo had just set his plate and tea mug in the sink when he turned around to Thorin towering over him. The politician was barely half a foot from him and advancing, and Bilbo laughed nervously as his back hit the edge of the sink. His heart raced about a thousand miles a minute because _dammit_ , this is not how he wanted this scene to go.

If he wasn’t such a piss pot all the time, Thorin could be considered attractive, what with the strong lines of his face and burning blue eyes. The short beard- usually a turn off for Bilbo- made the babysitter crave running his fingers along the politician’s jawline every time he saw him on television. His voice was a beautiful baritone that had made Bilbo shiver at first, and it was even worse in the morning. It had been so bad that he’d had to listen to all the ridiculous campaign advertisements over and over until he could get his reaction under control.

So, he might have a teeny weeny crush on his boss. It wasn’t like he was blind, and half the women in the nation joked about how they wouldn’t mind if Thorin decided to bend them over a desk. Bilbo had fantasised a few times about it himself, and he was turning red _way_ too fast for Thorin to not realise what having his _very muscular_ body pressed against Bilbo’s considerably squishy own was doing to his babysitter’s libido.

“If you needed a nightshirt,” Thorin rumbled, the vibrations of it making Bilbo’s stomach twist in knots, “I can arrange something.”

“Your campaign shirts are uncomfortable,” Bilbo argued, sounding breathless to his own ears. “Feels like I’m rubbing a Brillo pad.”

“So you’ve been looking at my shirts?” his boss asked, and well, _shit_ if Bilbo hadn’t dug his own grave. “I’m sure I could find one or two that would be soft enough for you.” He smiled- the tiny, flirtatious sort that made Bilbo’s heart race marathons in his chest- before quirking his head to the side. “I think that would look rather lovely on you; what do you say?”

“I say you’re rather concerned about getting this shirt off me.”

At Thorin’s sharp intake of air, Bilbo flushed even darker as he realised what _that_ sounded like. Holy hell, what had gotten into him? All the subtleness that his father had ingrained into him had apparently vanished, and now he was a stuttering mess.

However, warm, thick fingers dug into the fabric at his side, and Thorin shot him _the smoulder_ , the one from all the posters and advertisements that had followed Bilbo to his dream and made them less than innocent. In a voice that should be illegal, Thorin rumbled, “In many matters, I do believe you fall under the category of ‘mine,’ and it’s driving me to distraction that that prissy beanpole has taken something of mine.”

Bilbo glared at him, even if it was half-hearted. “I don’t belong to anyone, Thorin Oakenshield, and if you think this is attractive, then you’re an idiot.”

“Oh?” Thorin grinned and stroked his thumbs under Bilbo’s shirt. “Well, if you don’t find me attractive, then you’ll be rather insulted if I do this.”

“Do wha- _oh_!” His mouth was captured in a brief but brutal kiss, Thorin moving a hand up to cup the side of the babysitter’s face. It lasted no more than a second, but it made Bilbo’s entire face feel like it had caught fire. He whined at the pleased look that Thorin shot him and managed to turn around face the sink, pressing his face into his hands in embarrassment. Another whine choked its way from his throat, and Thorin laughed from behind him.

“Mine,” he repeated, nibbling on the curve of Bilbo’s ear. “If you’ll excuse me?”

Peeling himself from Bilbo’s back, Thorin paused long enough to swat the still flushed babysitter’s ass before trailing after his nephews. It was several minutes after that, though, that Bilbo managed to cool down and start on the dishes, even going so far as to make another cup of tea to settle his nerves. 

When he went to change into some normal clothes so he could take the boys out to the park, he was surprised to find a blue tee shirt folded on his bed. However, it made his blush start afresh when he unfolded the deliciously soft shirt to see, in worn silver letters, _Oakenshield 2016_. He couldn’t help the tiny giggle that escaped him, deciding as he rubbed his cheek against one of the sleeves that, while he doubted it was possible, it would be amusing to see the lengths Thorin would go to swing his vote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't too short, is it? I'm always worried that I move too fast in one-shots, and I would hate to muck it up.^^'
> 
> Was the shirt a new shirt or one that Thorin owned? The world may never know. D:
> 
> (Sorry, new account. I had to close my old one, but I'm sort of used to quirky end chapter notes. :/)


	2. Don't Leave the Light on for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a. Gold Cards: The Host and Person Who Refuses to Fit In  
> b. Copper Cards: Stranger’s Cell Phone and Medium-Sized Wild Animal  
> c. Prompt: He was wearing a sweater for God’s sake. However, he refused to let the scantily clad bodies and flowing booze around him sway him from his morals. That is, until the party’s host- Thorin Oakenshield- decided to borrow Bilbo’s corner to hide.
> 
> Or, the stereotypical high school party one

He really wished that he’d asked Bofur if there was a dress code before agreeing to accompany him to this party. Honestly, if it wasn’t enough that he didn’t know anyone there, it was just embarrassing to be standing dressed in a bulky sweater and a pair of boot-cuts in a sea of people that were dressed in skin tight shirts. He jumped back as a guy in a wife beater and black skinny jeans almost landed on him, solid rock body assuring Bilbo that he would _not_ be wise to get too upset at narrowly missing getting flattened.

It was no small secret that Bilbo Baggins just barely managed to fit into the “in” crowd. Honestly, it was obvious by the way he called it the “in” crowd that he was near the bottom of the totem pole. He knew Bofur, who was friends with all these people, which meant that he was apparently cool enough to be invited to parties now. However, _he_ didn’t know these people, so he made his way towards the back of the house, hoping he could hide in the backyard.

The house belonged to the Durin family, Thorin and his younger sister, Dís deciding to take advantage of the fact that their parents were out of town. Thrain Durin, their father, was the mayor, but even mayors took vacations- long ones that encouraged their two oldest children to host a two day long party. It started Friday evening and would continue until Sunday morning. There were plenty of rooms for people too drunk to make it home to sleep in and a lock box of car keys. Bilbo had kept his, doubting that he would drink anything stronger than a Coke before the night was through. Bofur would probably get trashed, and someone had to take his sorry ass home.

The backyard was full as well, but there were a few paths that led off to the gardens. He’d heard of Mrs. Durin’s lovely flowerbeds from his mother, who often lamented how something so pretty could be locked away from the rest of the world just because some posh family happened to own it. He could burn a few hours gazing about and then head back to the party when things stopped being so intense for him. No one noticed him as he shoved through the crowd to get to the path, which he was eternally grateful for.

He was glad for his sweater as the night’s cool air tickled at his face and neck, reminding him that, while it _was_ Spring Break, they had only just escaped from winter’s clutches. Grabbing the hems of his sleeves, Bilbo pulled them over his wrists a bit more and shivered a bit. Thankfully, the moon was out, so he looked at the growing hedge that was slowly becoming taller than he was. Apparently, to get to the flowerbeds, you had to get through some maze; Bilbo groaned.

Patting his pockets to make sure he had his phone in case he got lost, he just made a decision to make a game out of which way he turned. Left, then right, then left again, then right again. Sure, he ended up in quite a few dead ends that way, but it was probably the most fun he would have at this party and he refused to let that dampen his spirits. Mazes and adventures had always excited him when he was a kid, and he tried to tap into that same excitement now that he was a teenager. 

He heard voices at some point, but they were distance, and he never ran into them. Even as it started to get darker, he just used the flashlight on his phone to navigate and grinned as he heard the sound of water growing closer and closer. A large fountain lay in the centre of the flowerbeds, and if he could hear water, it meant he was almost there. His phone told him that he had already been trapped in the maze for nearly an hour, so it would be nice to sit at last.

As the maze opened up again, Bilbo froze in amazement. “Well, damn,” he murmured, eyes growing wider and wider. “This was certainly worth the trouble.”

The fountain was made of white stone that seemed to glow in the moonlight, tossing light out to the rest of the small clearing. The top of the fountain had a small sculpture of a man and woman and their three small children. A little girl and boy stood in front of their parents and a baby was held in the boy’s arms, and Bilbo couldn’t help the awed gasp as he realised it was the Durins. Thorin must have been the boy, Dís the girl, and the baby was their younger brother Frerin, who was still twelve and was hopefully far away from the obnoxious party with beer and half-naked teenagers.

He looked around the flowerbeds, a warm feeling in his chest growing at the sight of beautiful roses to his left. They were in various colours, so it was a small explosion of reds, pinks, oranges, and even a few whites. Red roses in vines crept up the side of the hedge, and he followed it to a small patch of hibiscus, stroking his fingers along the closed orange and pink petals he found there.

Looking around, he saw tulips, bleeding hearts, some bluebells and lilies of the valley. Daffodils and violets were growing around a small bench, but he was more interested in the large oak tree that was growing off in one corner of the garden, a small wooden swing dangling from its thickest branch. No doubt the Durins would all gather here one sunny day with a picnic basket and the kids playing on the swing. He sighed once, trying to keep slightly bitter thoughts from tainting his experience.

Bilbo decided to camp underneath the oak tree, pulling out his phone to scroll through Pinterest and hunt for more stuff to add to his gardening and DIY boards. Seeing the flowerbeds made him start to brainstorm for some things to do with the flowers that his mother had gotten him for Easter. 

He was still debating between putting the roses or the bleeding hearts closer to his bedroom when he heard the tiniest _meow_ and a thud. Bilbo looked up from his phone to see a lovely ginger cat not five feet from him. Sitting up, he extended his hand towards it, and the feline streaked towards him, eagerly shoving her nose into his palm and purring instantly. He stroked her fur and allowed her to settle on his lap, grinning wildly when she started to knead into his thigh.

“Hello, dear,” he murmured sweetly, scratching behind her ear and staring into her amber eyes. “How the devil did you get through that maze, you goofball?” She didn’t answer him and just closed her eyes, obviously deciding to settle in for a nap. He rolled his eyes and went back to Pinterest, free hand obediently stroking her fur languidly. Eventually, however, the light started to hurt his eyes, even with the brightness all the way down, so he laid down, never stopping his other hand in case the cat decided to sink her claws into something besides his thigh in retaliation.

It was peaceful, what with the cat purring and the sound of the water and crickets. He even got warm and comfortable enough to start dozing, the cat climbing up to his chest to sleep with him. This was much better than drinking and dancing to whatever music was considered popular these days. Sure, Bofur would probably tease him later for not socialising with the rest of them, but Bilbo could care less.

He’d come to this party with some naïve hope that he could meet someone, but he doubted that any of the people back at the house would be interested in him. Most of them would probably be more interested in someone who could dance- and _not_ the waltzing sort either- or didn’t snort when they laughed too hard. He’d been told before that the “weird thing that he did with his nose” wasn’t attractive either, no matter how many times his mother called him cute when he did it. No, he wouldn’t find anyone at this party, and he figured that he’d have to be like his parents and avoid love until he got to college.

The cat stood from her spot and walked off his chest. Then, she padded over to a spot in the grass and rubbed her face against something in the grass, purring loudly once again. Bilbo shook his head, wondering what it was about cats and dogs that they enjoyed just rolling in things outside. Did the grass smell nice? Were they trying to squish a bug and figured that was the most thorough way to do it? 

However, a burst of light suddenly erupted from the grass, and the cat leapt in the air, hissing angrily before stalking her way back over to Bilbo. Frowning and desperately trying to ignore the twisting in his gut, he crawled over to the light and groaned loudly when his suspicions were confirmed. Shoot a glare back at the feline didn’t seem to faze her, and she just paced back and forth, tail swishing back and forth in agitation. Apparently she hadn’t realised what her prize was capable of. 

The prize being a _very_ expensive smartphone. He picked it up as it locked itself again, pressing the button and hoping that whoever it was had a picture of themselves or someone else he recognised so he could return it. Naturally, that wasn’t the case, the lock screen wallpaper a screenshot of some meme or the other. Bilbo shook his head and turned back to the cat.

“Who did you steal this from?” he demanded, but she ignored him. “Is this why you were in the maze? You were running from whoever you stole it from? Well?” At her continued silence, he sighed and dragged his finger across the screen, hoping against all hope that the owner hadn’t set a password. Some people did that, and it would make his life all that much easier.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about it because he suddenly heard shouting.

Bilbo stood up, dropping the phone and grabbing the cat. She hissed at him angrily, but he just ignored her for a change and looked for a place to hide. The oak tree was big enough for him to duck behind, but what idiot didn’t check behind the tree? Still, unless he wanted to try to force his way through the hedge, he didn’t have any other options, so he hurried behind it and pressed himself flat against the bark, not daring to even breathe too loud.

The shouting got closer, and he was able to make out the words. “-will murder that fucking cat! Seriously, where the hell is it?!”

_Well, someone certainly misses their phone_ , Bilbo thought with raised eyebrows. The cat growled softly under her breath, but he shushed her and tried to pet her as comfortingly as possible. Something told him that the owner of the phone would _not_ be kind if they found her.

There were footsteps now, and Bilbo squeezed against the tree, trying to make himself invisible. He could hear whoever it was- a guy from the sound of his voice- grumbling as he made his way into the garden. As he got closer, the cat started squirming in Bilbo’s hands, trying to get free as if she was going to take on this guy. He shook his head at her, but she hissed and managed to sink her claws into his hand.

“Ouch! Dammit!” She fell out of his arms as he instinctively pulled away from her, and he watched her dart through the hedge in an orange blur. Feeling somewhat betrayed, he brought his hand to his mouth to lick at the blood oozing from the scratches.

He realised too late what his cursing had done as he looked up again to see a dark shape to his left, leaning against the tree. Bilbo yelped, jumping away from the oak and hitting the hedge. In the dim light, he could only see a frown on the guy’s face, and he looked desperately around for _anyone_ else. This was looking more and more like a bad ID special, and he really didn’t want to have to fight someone.

“I-If you’re looking for a phone, it’s in the grass over there!” he said quickly, unable to keep the hysteria from his voice. “She brought it over to me; I didn’t steal it!”

“Why are you so on edge?” His voice was deep, and Bilbo’s eyes widened at the sound of it. There was only one person who could have a baritone like that, and his heart started going crazy at the realisation that the stupid cat had stolen _Thorin “Oakenshield” Durin’s_ freaking phone.

Thorin was possibly the biggest cliché of the school. The goalie of the school football team, he was called “Oakenshield” because a kid from the Mirkwood team had said he was like a huge oak tree, shielding the goal from their attempts to score by sheer size alone. He was in the student council, led the student section, and had won Prom King his _junior_ year. Apparently, there was some confusion which led to him being nominated and then chosen despite the fact that the honour was supposed to be for seniors only. All the guys in the school loved him, and several people sported the same five o’clock shadow and leather jacket look that he did in hopes of imitating him. He signed up for upper level classes but rarely actually did well in them, too concerned with talking to his friends than doing homework. 

Oh, and he had single-handedly made being gay completely okay by coming out his sophomore year.

_Oh, this is just fan-freaking-tastic. I will kick that cat if I find her again. Okay, probably not, but there will be yelling!_ He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to stay calm. When he opened his eyes again, however, Thorin was walking towards him, his huge six-foot-two body creating a shadow that was threatening to cover Bilbo entirely. The fountain no longer shone as brightly as before, as if Thorin was telling it to keep things dark in hopes of scaring the bejesus out of Bilbo.

Realising that he still hadn’t answered the earlier question, Bilbo stammered, “W-Well, you would be on edge too if some angry giant cornered you in a garden and seemed intent on psyching you out.” He tried to put on a brave face, folding his shaking arms over his chest. “I told you where your phone is, and the cat ran off. If you’ll excuse me-”

“Who are you?” Thorin asked, hand landing on Bilbo’s shoulder and holding him in place. “I know everyone at this party, but I’ve never seen your face before.” Oakengiant tilted his head to the side. “Decided to crash the party but got too scared to show your face?”

_Oh, figures._ “No! I was invited!” He stuck his nose in the air huffed indignantly. “Bofur invited me and assured me that it was completely okay. However, I had no idea that it would just be like some MTV special, or I would have stayed home.” He glared up at Thorin, still unable to clearly make out his face. “Still, I have to drive him home, so here I am until he gets bored or passes out.”

“The garden?” Now the jerk sounded amused. “Seems like a strange place to hide.”

“I like flowers and gardening. Sue me.” He shrugged indifferently. “Besides, I got to go through the maze to get to it, and I figured it would be the most fun I’d have at this party.”

“I take it you don’t drink.” The hand was still on his shoulder, but it wouldn’t budge when he tried to shake it off. In fact, it tightened. “I remember you know. You’re Bilbo Boggins, that sophomore that hangs out in the library during lunch.”

_Boggins?!_ “No, that’s it.” He shoved Thorin back and ducked under his arm, managing to get at least five feet away before the goalie realised what was happening. “Thank you for inviting me. I ask that you find some way to help Bofur get safely home or tell him to call me if he needs a ride in the morning. Now, if we’re done here, I’m going home.”

“Boggins, wait!” Thorin reached for his hand, but Bilbo stomped on his foot.

Completely fed up, Bilbo hissed, “ _It is Baggins_ , you twat. I’m going _home_.”

However, he was grabbed again, and Thorin didn’t let him go this time. “Wait! Wait, I’m sorry.” Bilbo stopped and glared up at him, refusing to acknowledge the fact that his heart started running a marathon now that he could see the brute’s face properly. It was ridiculous that someone that had such awful manners could have such an attractive face, all sharp edges and a pair of crystal blue eyes.

Thorin seemed to realise the slight shift, and he smiled just a little, a corner of his mouth tipping up in a way that had no business being sexy. “Stay,” he murmured, hands coming up to rub the sophomore’s shoulders. “I’m sorry for being a creep. Dís says that my attempts at flirting usually tend to unsettle people.”

“Flirting?” At Thorin’s nod, Bilbo snorted. “She’s right then. You scared the daylights out of me, and I suggest figuring out someone’s name before you try to flirt with them.”

“I’m sorry,” the goalie repeated, and one of his hands slid up to cup Bilbo’s neck, his palm burning hot and feeling delicious against the sophomore’s freezing skin. “But you are pretty attractive, in a bookish way.”

“It’s the sweater, isn’t it?” Bilbo joked, plucking at the hem of it. “I knew it was going to be cold, and I have no idea what the dress code for these things is.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not just trying to sweet talk me to get me to do your homework, right? Because Bofur tries that all the time, and I demand money or actual sweets if that’s the case.”

Thorin startled him by chuckling, the sound of it more like rumbling thunder than an actual laugh. He then shuffled closer to Bilbo, using the hand on his neck to very gently tilt the sophomore’s very flushed face up. “I have my friend Balin to do my homework. I have different plans for you.”

“Oh,” Bilbo murmured, curling his fingers into Thorin’s leather jacket and feeling faintly surprised that it was warm despite the night’s chill. He looked down at their feet to keep the goalie from seeing just how much he was blushing, but the hand on his neck could probably feel it as it made its way up his neck all the way to his ears. “Is it something in the library then? I just read there. I can’t get her to cancel fines. I mean, I can put in a good word, but-”

“Bilbo?” Thorin asked sweetly. 

He looked up to see the small smirk on the goalie’s face. “Yeah?”

“Shut up.” 

And suddenly Thorin Oakenshield was kissing him, lips closing on Bilbo’s top lip and then licking his way inside Bilbo’s mouth. Both of the sophomore’s hands came up to fist into the collar of his leather jacket, too scared to touch his skin but needing leverage if he was going to get on his tippie toes to reach. Seriously, being five-foot-four was _so_ not a blessing like his mother tried to say, especially when Thorin Oakengiant Durin kissed him.

It didn’t last long, thank God, but it seemed that the goalie didn’t want to pull away just yet. No, he was determined to make Bilbo blush even more by being ridiculously adorable, pulling away to give the sophomore a quick Eskimo kiss before pressing their foreheads together. One of his hands slid down to Bilbo’s waist, spreading heat over his chest and stomach.

Something brushed up against Bilbo’s calf, and he jumped, arms wrapping around Thorin with a small cry. Quickly, he looked down at the ground to see what the hell had gotten so close without making a sound, and the ginger hellion meowed up at him.

“You little-!” Bilbo pulled away from Thorin and squatted down to get eye-level with her. “I see you decided to show up _after_ I nearly got blamed for your crime. Thanks for the scratch, by the way. That’s the last time I try to help you out!”

“It scratched you?” He was helped up, and Thorin’s eyes latched onto the red lines on the back of Bilbo’s hands with a frown. “That looks deep. Wanna come back to the house and put something on it?”

The grip on his wrist signalled it really wasn’t a question. “I suppose. I doubt that Bofur is ready to leave, and we might as well get out of this cold,” he relented with a sigh. When the cat meowed at them again, he shook his head at her. “No, you can stay out here, you hellion. Go beg some drunken high schooler for food or something.”

She butted her head against his leg one last time before racing back towards the entrance to the garden, disappearing in the shadows of the maze. They shook their heads at her, and Thorin began to pull them towards the entrance as well, grumbling under his breath about strays. However, Bilbo just stopped in his tracks, the force of it yanking Thorin back as well.

“Aren’t we going inside?” the goalie demanded, raising an eyebrow.

“Um, forgetting something?” Bilbo asked, matching him eyebrow-to-eyebrow at Thorin’s vacant expression. “You know, maybe the thing that you chased a stray cat through the maze for? Expensive, perfect for streaming videos and texting friends-”

“Shit, my phone!”

And Bilbo grinned as he watched Thorin race back to retrieve the device, pulling his own out of his pocket and opening up a new contact. Whatever “plans” Thorin had for him, it would probably be a smart decision to have some way to call or text him later.

Judging by the look on the goalie’s face when Bilbo handed him his phone and the speed at which he entered his contact information in, Thorin must have agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's a little creepy in this, isn't he? Whoops. XD I see him as the type to try to flirt but accidentally look like a serial killer. :/ But Bilbo will continue to be the little babe he usually is. C:


End file.
